Hard Game – IceMav
by Mrs. Anderton
Summary: Maverick and Iceman are hockey players. When Maverick shows up in Iceman's team as a replacement of Cougar, who was wounded, the tension is high. Iceman doesn't like Maverick's solo style and decides to do something about it.
1. Chapter 1

The Tomcats was an American big town's hockey team, widely supported by most of its citizens. They had their rightful place in NHL, and competed equally against other big towns' widely supported hockey teams. They were normal in the world of the adored sportsmen, a good team amongst others, with good players amongst others.

It was a cold day of December, and the wind blew hard around the town's ice rink. Inside it, the team was preparing for a normal day's practise, warming up on the ice, skating around the rink randomly. A handful of supporters sat on the first rows, chatting with each other about the last game. Mike Metcalf, the coach, made everybody gather around him and told them the instructions.

One more player jumped onto the ice, helmet under his elbow, and joined the group.

"Guys, this is Pete Mitchell, that most of you know as Maverick", said Metcalf. Mitchell's jersey, indeed, showed this name. He had been for long the "second Mitchell" of his former team, and to avoid any confusion, his nickname was printed on his jersey instead of his actual surname. "Cortell's out, so Mitchell's going to play with us until he gets back – which is nothing but sure, I've been visiting the guy this morning, he's got a hell of a trauma. Kept going on about losing the edge and holding on too tight or something. Anyway, Mitchell's gonna take his place in first line, right winger. Maverick, you have Heatherly as left winger and Kazansky as center. Gonna work on your chemistry today, gotta beat the hell out of the Migs on Saturday. And if anyone's gonna do that, it's you three guys."

The three guys in question nodded. Maverick felt the helmeted look of all his new teammates on him; he felt their suspicion. Was he as good as Cortell, a.k.a the Cougar? Was he going to live up to their expectations?

One of them was looking more intensely at him. He was tall and, for what he could see through the helmet's grid, blond and not so welcoming. On his jersey was the letter "C" for Captain. As the coach clapped for the practise to start, the blond cast a last hard look on Maverick and turned around, revealing the number 4 surmounted by his surname: Kazansky.

The training went quite well; Kazansky's team, in which Maverick was, won by 3-1, two of the goals having been scored by Mitchell and the last by the team's captain. They then trained passes and long shots, and were dismissed.

"Mitchell", Kazansky called once they reached the locker room.

The black-haired player turned around to face him.

"You play solo. I don't like that."

Maverick raised his eyebrows, looking at Kazansky in the eye, shook his head with a slight smile and sat down on the bank. "I score, that's what matters."

"Won't work this way on Saturday. The Migs are good. Don't underestimate them."

Maverick started to undo his skates' laces.

"Do you hear me, Mitchell?"

"I'm not deaf, Kazansky."

"Then listen to me. Don't – play – solo", he said, marking every word.

"I'll try my best", Maverick replied, shrugging. "But that's how I play. Your managers, they hired me for this, for my game."

Kazansky leaned down so that his face was really close to Maverick's. "You're arrogant, and you're selfish. You want all the glory to yourself. On Saturday, if we miss even one goal because of your stupid game, you're out. I'll see to it myself."

"Iceman!" another player called. Kazansky straightened himself and looked around. "Beer with us?"

"So that's what they call you?" Maverick was laughing. "Iceman, huh? King of the rink, or something?"

Kazansky shot him a dark look. "I'm the captain here, Mitchell. I'm the one who gets to _think_. I don't let the opponent get to me, as I won't let _your_ mistakes ruin _our_ game."


	2. Chapter 2

They were 15 minutes into the game when the Migs scored the first goal. Their supporters, stacked in a corner of the rink as they were the guest team's, roared with joy while their players gathered into the usual congratulation hug. Metcalf shouted some orders, and the first line jumped on the ice, ready to fight, to try and even the score before the end of the first 20 minutes. Kazansky won the faceoff, passed to Maverick who raced towards the Migs' goal; Maverick heard Kazansky call the puck back, glanced at him, decided he was in better posture, shot, and missed. A Mig intercepted the puck. Mitchell was circling the goal to get back to their defensive side when he got violently projected against the board, his back getting the most of the impact, his head following closely; the "WHAM" resonated in his ears as he fell down with his checker, letting go of his cross just in time to put his arms behind him and absorb some of the second shock. He tried to inhale but his lungs seemed closed. The referee blew his whistle, thinking of a foul; he then realized the two were on the same team, and looked rather confused. Heatherly was skating towards the mess of the two bodies. When he was close enough, he shouted over the crowd: "What the fuck, Ice?!"

Maverick was breathing again. He looked around, made out the crowd and various players zooming towards them; he didn't understand what had just happened. Kazansky was trying to get up, which he finally managed to do after three attempts. He skated away uncertainly, but was stopped by an angry Heatherly. "What is wrong with you, Kazansky?", the latter was shouting. "What are you trying to do?"

"MITCHELL! KAZANSKY!", Metcalf called from the bank. Maverick had gotten up with the help of the Migs' goaltender and skated shakily towards the bank. "Locker room, now", said the coach, his features all messed up with anger.

A doctor followed Maverick as he entered the locker room and sat down heavily. The doctor removed his helmet and started checking his pupils for signs of internal damage. Kazansky entered the room with Metcalf on his heels. The coach looked at Maverick briefly, and then started shouting at Ice. "What on earth was that about, Kazansky? Do you realized that you've just jeopardized the whole game, and with that our whole season? This is a critical game, in case I haven't made it clear enough. What are you trying to do?!"

Kazansky took off his helmet and threw it to the ground. "I warned him!", he shouted back, pointing an aggressive finger at Maverick. "I warned him that playing solo wouldn't work against them. He's jeopardizing the season, not me!"

"What, and you just decided to… take him out?", Metcalf shouted louder.

"Someone had to do it, and you weren't going to! Just because you played with his father! He's not good for us, Mike! He's dangerous!"

Metcalf seemed to think for an instant, and then spoke in an even tone: "Well, doesn't matter now, does it? You're both out. Now–"

"What do you mean we're both out?" Iceman exploded.

"Did you think I was going to let you go on the ice again after what you've done? You're the danger here, Kazansky! You're out because I say so!"

Kazansky looked revolted. Metcalf continued calmly: "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go back out there and try to motivate a bunch of shaken players to win this fucking game with half of their first line missing."


	3. Chapter 3

"You'll be okay", the doctor said to Maverick. "You're quite shook up, but nothing serious. You can't go back to today's game though, I'm afraid. Need to rest."

Maverick thanked him distractedly, his eyes on Iceman, who was kicking random things in a corner of the room. The doctor left, leaving the two alone. Iceman turned around, not looking at Maverick, though, but at some spot over him.

"I warned you", he said, his voice imperceptibly shaky.

Maverick just kept staring at him, quiet.

"I had to do this."

Silence.

"For the team."

Silence. And then Ice exclaimed: "Won't you say something?!"

"Won't you tell me what you _really_ did this for?"

Ice looked at him, puzzled.

"I told you."

"You told me nothing."

"Your ego is hurt because I stopped your stupid game."

"Let's leave my ego out of this."

"I don't think so. Your ego is what it's all about."

"Oh, really?", Maverick replied, tilting his head to the side. "See, I don't think that's true, Kazansky. I think the problem is way bigger than that."

"What do you mean?", Iceman asked, defiant.

Maverick stood up and walked towards him, stopping only when the tip of their ice skates were an inch from each other.

"I mean that there's a lot more to this than my solo style. I think you're afraid, Kazansky. You don't like my presence here because it's disrupting your quiet little world."

These words seemed to confuse him even more. He frowned at Maverick, and looked away. "What's your point?"

"I got it, Kazansky. You think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me after the practices, but I did. You don't want me in your world because you're feeling something for me, and you think you shouldn't."

Iceman's eyes went back to Maverick. He stared at him for a while; frowned again; gulped. "I…", he hesitated.

"It's alright. I get it. Look, I didn't want to confront you with that because, obviously, you think it's wrong. But tonight, you didn't give me a choice. You tried to injure me so I would be out for a few games, maybe even the whole season and you wouldn't have to see me anymore." Maverick laughed sarcastically. "Well, you didn't put enough heart in it."

Iceman shook his head and stared at his feet. When he looked at Maverick again, his eyes were a bit watery. "I'm sorry", he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you – well, I guess I did, but – I don't know. It was so stupid. I'm just… I'm lost, Maverick."

Maverick lay a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Relax. I get it. Been there before."

Ice raised an eyebrow, looking suspicious. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It was a few years ago, in a former team of mine. Kinda fell for the goaltender's badassery", he let out with a laugh. A shy smile formed on Iceman's lips. "Anyway", Maverick continued, serious again. "We're not here to discuss that. But I can say for sure that, back then, I was a lot better at dealing with it than you are right now."

Ice's smile faded, he dropped his head. "I guess. How… how did _you_ deal with it?"

"Well, I dealt with it by not making a big deal out of it. I accepted it. Embraced it. Everything you didn't do."

"It was stupid. I'm sorry", Iceman mumbled, looking down again.

"You're not stupid, Kazansky. Hey, look at me." Ice obeyed. "You don't have to feel guilty or embarrassed about what you feel. Now, everyone doesn't have to know if you don't want to. Me, I don't care, people already know that I'm not limited to girls."

Iceman frowned, not sure he understood what Maverick was saying. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean, Kazansky?" Maverick teased with a crooked smile.

"Do you…", Iceman hesitated, not daring to even think it.

"Do I like the way you're looking at me when I come out of the shower?"

The blond player blushed, but the corners of his lips raised.

"Yeah, I do, you lumpish brute. I also happen to watch you, but I'm a tiny bit more discreet and subtle."

This time, Iceman smiled full-heartedly. "It's really okay, then?"

"What, this whole thing? Well, if we let aside the fact that you almost killed me, I guess it is."

They laughed, then just looked at each other intensely. Iceman's hand grabbed Maverick's neck and gently pulled his head to his. Their lips didn't have time to touch; the end of the first period rang loudly, and the ceiling of the locker room shook with the heavy steps of the supporters. The team was going to be there any second. Iceman let go of Maverick, giving him a smile that said "Sorry. Later."

Maverick nodded, and smiled back.


	4. Chapter 4

The game was in full swing when Iceman scored the third goal. They gathered into the celebration group hug as the speaker's voice resonated in the roaring rink:

"Aaand this is the third goal from the Tomcaaats! Scored by number 14, Tom–"

"KAZANSKY!", the public completed.

"With an assist from number 4, Pete–"

"MITCHELL!"

"Time: 47 minutes and 3 seconds."

They changed lines; Maverick and Iceman sat on the bank next to the others, who punched them in the shoulder joyfully. They were 13 minutes away from winning this game and passing first in the season ranking.

Maverick leaned to Iceman and said, just loud enough so no one but he could hear: "Kazansky, this is terrible situation that we're in. There's 13 minutes left until the end of the game."

A crooked smile formed on Iceman's lips. "And then there's the player of the game award."

"And it's going to be you, so you'll have to do the stupid rink tours for the supporters."

"And then there's the locker room congratulations and debriefing."

"Which means we're at least 30 minutes away from being alone."

"I'm thinking of the small classroom on third floor".

"Definitely."

"That is if no interviewer gets in our way."

The coach Metcalf patted them in the back, meaning they were next to go on the ice. 8 minutes left. The referee blew his whistle, the five players headed towards the bank; the first line jumped in.

"Your faceoff", Iceman shouted to Maverick.

Maverick nodded. He positioned himself, concentrated on the puck in the referee's hands; it was thrown on the ice, and with a skilful move of the cross, Maverick passed it to Heatherly behind him. They skated at full speed to the opponent's zone, the puck zooming between them, the other team vainly trying to intercept. Maverick was in front of the goaltender; he couldn't get a clear shot. He passed the puck to Merlin behind the goal, who got checked by an opponent; they were stuck with the puck between their feet. Maverick and a player of the opposite team came in for help. One of the opponent could get away with the precious cylindrical thing. Maverick was about to chase him when he was checked against the board – gently. It was Ice. "Not sorry", he said. "This time I don't want you dead… I just want you."

He smiled, and skated away. Maverick followed as quickly as he could, shaking his head. Ice wouldn't get away with this so easily.


End file.
